Carnal Innocence

time to get drunk yet.”
    He was only half drunk, which was exactly the way Dwayne liked it best. The fatigue of the day had fadedinto a nice, friendly buzz. Slogging through McNair swamp with Bobby Lee and Carl and the others had been a miserable way to spend a day.
    He’d gone willingly enough, and would go again in the morning. He didn’t begrudge the time or the effort, and didn’t see that anyone would begrudge him a little time with the bottle to wash the day away.
    He’d felt for Bobby Lee especially. Whenever he’d looked into the boy’s face and seen the strain and fear, he’d wondered what it would be like to be searching for his own sister.
    That thought had him burning his throat with more whiskey.
    He wanted to think of pleasant things now. Of how nice the crickets sounded in counterpoint with the buzzing in his ears. How soft the grass felt under his bare feet. He thought he might spend the night there, watching the moon rise and the stars come out.
    When Tucker sat down beside him, Dwayne obligingly passed him the bottle. Tucker took it, but didn’t drink.
    “This stuff’ll kill you, son.”
    Dwayne only smiled. “It takes it’s sweet time doing it, though.”
    “You know it worries Della when you do this.”
    “I’m not doing it to worry her.”
    “Why are you doing it, Dwayne?” Tucker expected no response and continued without one. He gauged his brother’s condition and knew he was sober enough to be coherent, drunk enough to talk. “‘Drunkenness is a voluntary madness.’ Can’t think right off who said that, but it rings true.”
    “I’m not drunk yet, or mad either,” Dwayne said placidly. “Just working on both.”
    Wanting to choose his words carefully, Tucker took time to light half a cigarette. “It’s getting bad. The past couple of years it’s been getting real bad. First I thought it was because so many things went wrong so close together. Daddy dying, then Mama. Sissy taking off. Then I thought it was because Daddy drank so heavyand you just picked up on whatever genes it takes to have you follow him along.”
    Annoyed, and not wanting to be, Dwayne took the bottle back. “You do your share of drinking.”
    “Yeah. But I’m not making it my life’s work.”
    “We do what we do best.” Dwayne lifted the bottle and drank. “Of all the things I’ve tried, getting drunk’s the one thing I don’t worry about screwing up.”
    “That’s bullshit.” The fury rushed out so quick and sharp, it shocked them both. He hadn’t known it had been preying on him, eating at him from the inside—this reality of what his big brother had become, layered over the image of the one Tucker had once admired and envied. “That’s just bullshit.” Tucker snatched the bottle and, springing to his feet, flung it into the water. “I’m tired of this, goddammit. I’m fucking tired of carrying you home, making up excuses for you in my head, of watching you kill yourself one bottle at a time. That’s what he did. Flying that goddamn plane while he was shitfaced. The old man killed himself sure as if he’d put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.”
    Dwayne got shakily to his feet. He weaved a little, but his eyes were steady. “You’ve got no reason to talk to me like this. You’ve got no right to talk about him either.”
    Tucker grabbed Dwayne by the shirtfront, tearing seams. “Who the hell has the right if not me, when I grew up loving both of you? Being hurt by both of you?”
    A muscle in Dwayne’s cheek began to twitch. “I’m not Daddy.”
    “No, you’re not. But he was a fucking drunk, and so are you. The only difference is he got mean with it and you just get pathetic.”
    “Who the hell are you?” His mouth moved into a snarl as he grabbed Tucker’s shirt in turn. “I’m the oldest. It was always me he jumped on first. I was supposed to take care of things, to fucking carry on the Longstreet legacy. It was me who got shipped off to school, me who got put in charge of the fields. Not you. Never you, Tuck. I never wanted it, but he wouldn’t letme go my own way. Now he’s dead and I can do what I want.”
    “You’re not doing anything but sliding into a bottle. You’ve got two sons of your own. At least he was here. At least he acted like a father.”
    Dwayne let out a howl, and then they were wrestling on the grass, grunting and growling like a pair of dogs looking for a soft spot to sink fangs into. Tucker took a short glancing blow